“Red scorpion tattoos confirmed.” Fed steps forward with his tablet. “But here’s the problem—this route was only finalized and shared with our joint coordination team two days ago.”
Maximo’s expression darkens. “You’re saying there’s a leak.”
“In our organization, for sure,” I confirm, meeting Nico’s eyes. “Maybe yours, too.”
The temperature in the air seems to drop ten degrees. This is the moment where the alliance could shatter—accusations, distrust, old hatreds resurfacing.
Nico runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “We had a similar incident yesterday. Warehouse in South Philly—only our joint security team knew about the shipment timing.”
“Two attacks in two days,” Carmela says quietly. “Both on operations that only coordinated teams knew about.”
We move inside the boathouse. Unlike our first meeting here a week ago, there’s no need for formal introductions or lengthy explanations. We’re past that now. This is about the survival of an alliance we’ve all invested in.
“Someone close to both families is feeding Alexei information,” Nico says, his voice deadly calm. “Someone who has access to our joint operations.”
“Or multiple someones,” I counter. “Tartarov’s been planning this for months. He wouldn’t rely on a single asset.”
Isabella spreads out a timeline on the weathered table. “Every attack that’s happened since we started coordinating—I’ve been tracking them. There’s a pattern.”
Valeria leans in, her analytical mind clearly engaged. “Show me.”
For the next hour, the women work together, cross-referencing attack times with meeting schedules, comparing who had access to which pieces of information. Fed and Maximo, despite their mutual dislike, collaborate on security protocols and identifying weak points in our combined defenses.
Nico and I watch our children work together—De Lucas and Morettis moving in sync, thinking strategically as one unit rather than two opposing forces.
“Strange times,” Nico murmurs, echoing his words from our first meeting.
“Strange indeed,” I reply. “But effective.”
Isabella taps a name on her laptop. “This man—Carlo Benedetti. He’s been at every joint strategy meeting. Has access to both family communication systems. And look—” She pulls up financial records. “Three deposits from a Brighton Beach account in the last month.”
“That’s one of my men,” Nico says, his voice going cold.
“And this one,” Fed adds, pointing to another name on the screen. “Vincent Shaw. De Luca security. Same pattern—deposits, access, presence at every coordination meeting.”
My jaw clenches. “Two leaks. One in each family.”
“Tartarov’s been playing both sides,” Carmela says. “Making sure no matter what we do, he has eyes on it.”
Nico meets my gaze across the table. “We handle this together. Simultaneously. No one tips off the other.”
“Agreed,” I nod. “Tomorrow night. We take them both at the same time.”
Maximo looks at Fed. “Your men can handle Shaw?”
“Without breaking a sweat,” Fed confirms. “You got Benedetti?”
“He’ll regret the day he sold out the Moretti family,” Maximo says darkly.
As the meeting concludes, there’s a shift in the atmosphere. We’re not just coordinating anymore—we’re truly working as one unit. The boundaries between De Luca and Moretti operations are blurring.
Valeria hugs Carmela before leaving. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For trusting me. For giving us this chance.”
“We’re in this together now,” Carmela replies. “All of us.”
The Morettis exit first, but this time there’s no lingering suspicion, no checking over shoulders. Just a nod of mutual respect before their SUVs disappear into the night.
Fed and Isabella head to our car, giving Carmela and me a moment alone.
